Title: Somewhat Compatible
Author: walkwithheros
Fandom: Buffyverse
Pairing: Anya/Cordelia
Rating: PG
Words: 916
Disclaimer: Joss wins.

A/N: All I can say is..the crack-bunny just wouldn't let go!

"-and Xander, yeesh. That man's got a whole army of obnoxious, Hawaiian-style shirts that not even a self-respecting tourist would wear, and that pair of neon blue shorts.." Cordelia shivered, "Some of his clothing is so electric, I swear it needs a charger. You've seen the inside of his closet."

"It's like looking back in time," Anya agreed. "And coming from someone who tortured neon-clad men throughout the 60s, once was really enough."

The air around them was thick and heavy with smoke, wafting over from the other end of the bar where several men sat smoking and drinking, and singing some strange rendition of "We Are The Champions."

"I don't know who that dorky, fashion-handicapped man thinks he is," Cordelia shook her head, "cheating on beautiful, talented women like us."

"Or leaving us at the altar," Anya added through a frown. "He should have been turned into a Quart'nog demon long ago..how does he get away with it?"

Cordelia shrugged, "Excuses of mortal danger, and the puppy eyes."

"Plus," Anya was gazing wistfully at nothing in particular, "he's a viking in the sack."

Cordelia cringed slightly. Too much information. "Well, at least we never took him back."

"Exactly," Anya nodded firmly, but as she turned back to her drink Cordelia could have sworn she heard her mutter something about pre-apocalyptic flings not counting.

For a few seconds both women sipped on the last of their drinks absently, before the bartender swept by and provided them both with another round. As their empty glasses were whisked away, the ex-demon's voice struck up again abruptly, "So, how'd you die?"

She was forward, none of this dancing around the subject crap. Cordelia liked her. "Coma. You?"

"Stabbed by a Harbinger in an apocalyptic battle with the First Evil." Anya said proudly, "Far more interesting than most deaths."

"My coma was induced by a body-jacking, renegade power bent on world domination," Cordelia offered.

"Huh. Painful?"

"Hell yes. I gave birth to a full grown woman." The ex-seer rubbed her stomach absently.

"Odd." A quirked eyebrow, "You look far too sightly around the middle to have done that."

She flashed that winning, stage-worthy smile, "Thanks." Cordelia knew better than to deny what she knew to be true, especially when it came to her own looks. Comas were oddly restorative, better than the spa, actually; if it weren't for that pesky death thing.

Cordelia watched as the ex-demon leaned back over her drink, elbows planted firmly on the bar-top and long legs crossed, her foot wiggling absently. She was wearing a classy pair of black heels – maybe a little wider in the toe than Cordelia might have liked, but classy none the less. Anya had always been one of the few in Sunnydale that could tell Prada from Payless.

"I remember that you used to like money a lot, back before I understood the superiority of capitalism." Anya's fingers tapped on the countertop, tone solemn, "I'm highly bothered by the lack of monetary exchange here."

"In the afterlife? I don't think anyone here actually needs money.." It wasn't like there was a shortage of anything there, just people indulging in old habits. Speaking of which, she wondered if Anya would make a good shoe-shopping partner..

"But still, I miss money. There's nothing like it; the feel of it, the look of it, the-"


"Yes!" The ex-demon leaned closer enthusiastically, "Like ink and age, and just slightly-"

Cordelia smiled, "Metallic?"

"Exactly!" The other woman's tone had jumped several octaves in excitement, fingers tapping much faster on the counter. "We have many things in common."

"Mhm." Right now Cordelia could only think of three - martinis, money and dorky, fashion challenged men - but she nodded along just the same, lifting another sip of her martini to her lips as Anya continued.

"So, want to have spontaneous, Willow-like lesbian sex?"

Cordelia choked on her drink.

Several hacking coughs later she looked up to find the other woman still staring at her expectantly, looking utterly unabashed. "Well?"


"I find you visually pleasing and somewhat compatible; and I know you find me attractive. I caught you looking down my shirt several times."

Cordelia felt her eyebrows shooting up into her hairline. It wasn't like that was really a challenge, with a shirt cut like that, all v-neck and thin fabric, "I don't - I mean haven't with a girl, not since high school-"

"I haven't ever, but I'm sure it'll all come back to you - like riding a popsicle," Anya offered enthusiastically.

"Bicycle," Cordelia corrected. "But-"

"We'll go to my place, I have a very nice shower." And Cordelia was too confused to argue that everyone who wanted one had a very nice shower in the afterlife, and now that she thought of it if Anya really wanted money all she had to do was ask someone, maybe the bartender had some lying around that she could have, it's not like he needed it-

"Well, what are you waiting for?" The ex-demon was standing beside her, brushing down a skirt that ended mid-thigh. Anya had always had incredibly nice legs - it was one of the first things Cordelia had noticed about her, back when she thought she was a new Sunnydale student. Cordelia was a sucker for legs.

And long lashes, like the kind that now batted in her direction curiously.

"Oh, what the hell," Cordelia muttered under her breath, gulping down the last bit of her drink. "Lead the way."